


The Silence in the Moments

by Rochelle_Templer



Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Mentions of past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 06:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11640444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Templer/pseuds/Rochelle_Templer
Summary: An episode tag for The Signs in the Silence. Sweets decides to make additional amends to Brennan for how he acted and it leads to a discussion about how the case affected each of them.





	The Silence in the Moments

The halls of the Jeffersonian’s Medico-Legal lab were mostly empty by the time Doctor Lance Sweets made his way toward Brennan’s office. His footfalls echoed as he trudged along, his pace slowing bit by bit as he approached his destination. As he came within a couple of feet of the office, he stopped and craned his neck so he could look inside without being seen.

From there he was able to observe the anthropologist sitting at her desk, typing something up on her computer. Watching her fingers methodically dance along the keyboard, Sweets discovered that he was developing second thoughts about his visit. But then a fresh surge of guilt and regret welled up inside him, and it compelled him to take those final steps forward.

He tapped on the glass, and Brennan looked up, confusion evident in her features. But she then nodded in the psychologist’s direction, indicating that he had permission to enter.

“Doctor Sweets? What are you doing here?” she asked as she resumed typing. “I thought that Booth already went over my report for the Samantha Winslow case. Was there something else he needed?”

“I’m not here about the case,” Sweets replied. “Not technically. I mean, I guess I am and I’m not.”

“How can that be?” Brennan asked, tilting her head quizzically. “You are either here for a given purpose or you are not. Logically, both answers cannot be simultaneously true.”

A flicker of a smile managed to make it to the therapist’s lips. He often suspected that the anthropologist was not as clueless as she claimed and felt that this was some kind of playful way for her to jest with him. Still, his unease about the reason he came in the first place swiftly brushed aside any amusement he might have felt.

“I…I wanted to apologize again for the way I acted toward you in the diner,” Sweets said, working hard to make sure he looked her in the eye as he said it. “I never should have implied that you didn’t care about Samantha or her situation. I don’t know why I….”

The psychologist suddenly shook himself and began to fidget.

“There is no excuse,” he continued. “I’m sorry, Doctor Brennan.”

Feeling about two feet tall by this point, Sweets backed away from her and spun on his heel to leave.

“Sweets…could I speak to you for a moment?”

The psychologist turned around to see Brennan getting up from behind her desk and walking toward him. Brennan then indicated the couch with a wave of her hand, and the two of them sat down together. The anthropologist studied her hands in her lap for a moment, while Sweets waited attentively.

“What you said at the lab, about not rushing through things merely for the sake of expedience…it was not an invalid statement,” she said. “While it’s true that I wasn’t devoid of feeling for Samantha I perhaps became a little too focused on relying on normal procedures to produce results for investigations. You were right to encourage me to seek alternate methods to gather the information needed.”

Sweets shook his head and was about to argue when Brennan held up her hand.

“I told you about one of my foster experiences,” she pressed on. “About the people who locked me in the trunk of their car. Not long after that incident, a caseworker came by the house. There had been other complaints, and they were investigating these incidents. During their investigation, they questioned me about my stay in that place.”

The anthropologist paused and took a deep breath. Sweets started to reach for one of her hands, but quickly thought better of it and instead laced his fingers together in his lap.

“They interrogated me as if I were the one they were investigating,” Brennan continued, her eyes growing bright with the glint of tears. “Many of the questions seemed to be oriented more toward finding out what I might have done to provoke the things they did than on what was actually done to me. I remember starting to wonder if I was actually responsible for what had happened and then wondering why I should have to feel that way.”

“You shouldn’t have had to,” Sweets insisted. “You were not responsible for what they did. People like that…they rarely need a reason to be abusive. And if they did, they are usually more than capable of manufacturing a reason to suit their needs.”

“I believe that you are correct,” Brennan nodded. “After she was done questioning me, she told me to grab my things because I was to be moved to another foster home that night. She kept tapping her foot and looking at her watch while I gathered my things. When I arrived at the new home, she kept introducing me as Terry Brennan.”

Brennan frowned and narrowed her eyes in anger.

“I tried to correct her at one point, but she just rolled her eyes,” she said. “Then she said that it didn’t really matter anyway because I was going to be getting a new caseworker soon and I wouldn’t be staying in this house for more than a couple days.”

Brennan sniffed, and Sweets looked around to find a tissue box nearby. He plucked one out and offered it to the anthropologist who accepted it.

“It was as if I was no longer a person at that point,” she said as she dabbed her eyes. “I was just a variable in a system…An object to be traded and discarded with no thought to my feelings or well-being.”

Sweets nodded; his eyes also watering up in response. He was surprised that Brennan chose once again to reveal so much of her past to him and wished he could do more than just listen to her story.

“Bones? What’s wrong?”

Both of them looked up to see Booth standing in the doorway to the office. At the sight of Brennan’s red-rimmed eyes, he immediately marched into the room and knelt down beside her.

“Are you all right?” he asked gently.

“I’m ok,” Brennan said as she finished wiping her face. “Doctor Sweets and I were discussing this case and I…I was remembering something from when I was in foster care.”

Booth nodded in understanding and rose to his feet.

“Booth, I’m glad that we didn’t have to put Samantha into the foster system,” Brennan said. “After being with those terrible people, she didn’t deserve that. But I still don’t understand why they took her away from her parents in the first place if all they were going to do was mistreat her.”

“Some people convince themselves that they should be parents no matter what. They feel that they should be able to do whatever is necessary to achieve that goal,” Booth said, shaking his head. “Even if they don’t deserve a child in the first place.”

“It still doesn’t make sense,” she frowned.

“I don’t know if it really should, Bones,” Booth replied.

Sweets began to get up from the couch.

“I should probably go so that the two of you can….”

But before he could stand, Booth grabbed his arm and pulled him back down onto the couch and sat down on the other side of him.

“I need to say something too,” Booth said, ducking his head down. “There are people within the Bureau who are taking a close look at my actions during this case. Hitting that guy…losing control like that…that’s not the kind of behavior the FBI can sanction for any of its agents.”

“Will there be some sort of disciplinary action?” Brennan asked.

“Desk duty for a while, I’m thinking,” Booth shrugged. “That seems to be the way this is panning out. I’ve not heard anything worse than that. Unless you include being stuck for another round of psych evaluations from Sweets.”

The therapist snorted a little at the agent’s sarcastic tone at that last remark, but said nothing in response.

“The point is though that I shouldn’t have done that,” Booth sighed.

“I told you Booth, what you did was completely different than what Mike Shenfield used to do to Samantha,” Brennan responded. “Or what your father used to do to you.” Booth flinched at her words and shook his head again.

“I know, Bones, but I can’t stop thinking about it,” he said. “Seeing that piece of trash hit someone right in front of me like that…I could feel myself losing it. But that wasn’t the worst part of it.”

“You mean because you felt guilty about hitting him after the fact?” Brennan asked.

“No,” Booth said. “It wasn’t how I felt when it was over. It was how good and right it felt while I was doing it.”

The agent leaned toward Sweets and Brennan, intensity gleaming in his eyes despite the weariness etched into his expression.

“You weren’t there, Bones,” he added. “You didn’t see it. This wasn’t like those times where I’ve had to restrain a suspect or protect you or one of the squints. I was standing over him and for a second there, I was proud of what I had done. I mean, what if I hadn’t been able to stop myself from doing more?”

“That wouldn’t have happened,” Sweets asserted in a soft voice. “I was there, and I could see that you had enough control to make sure nothing else happened.”

“How can you be so sure of that?” Booth said.

“Because you’re not that kind of person,” the psychologist said. “You’re not a bully or a thug. Besides, if I had thought for even a moment that you might have taken things further, I would have just stepped in between you and Shenfield, and you would have stopped.”

“You sure about that plan, Sweets?” Booth nearly growled at him. “This isn’t the first time you’ve seen what I can do. You remember that hockey game and my beating Carlson until I broke my hand? Are you saying that you’d be ok with getting between me and someone else?”

“Yes, I am,” Sweets said, swallowing hard. “Because I trust you.”

“I do too,” Brennan piped in. “You’re a protector, Booth. You do what you have to in order to ensure the safety of the people around you. Even people like Denise Shenfield, who don’t deserve your protection. None of us feel scared about having you around. We feel safe.”

“Thanks Bones, Sweets,” the agent murmured. “That means a lot.”

The three of them sat quietly for a moment before Booth sat up straighter with a hint of a smile in his eyes.

“Hey, we should be celebrating, right?” he said. “Samantha’s home with her parents, the Shenfields are going to get what they deserve, and we solved the case. Today the good guys won.”

“You’re right,” Brennan said with a smile of her own. “Now Samantha can be with people who won’t just view her as a burden to tolerate.”

At those words, Sweets shuddered.

‘ _Why would anyone want to burden themselves with someone like you?’_

Sweets shivered as memories from his own childhood began to replay in his head again. This case had stirred up a lot of feelings that he had tried to keep buried in the back of his mind. But now he found that almost any sort of trigger made it possible for them to flood back into his thoughts.

“Sweets, are you all right?” Brennan said, noticing his silent distress.

“I’m fine,” the psychologist insisted in a voice a little too high and thin to be believable.

“This case really got to you too, didn’t it?” Booth asked quietly.

“Well, think about it: a deaf-mute girl who is found covered in blood and who suffered through years of horrendous abuse,” Sweets rambled. “I think that would bother anyone. Or at least it should, right?”

“Actually the term would be deaf and uncommunicative,” Brennan corrected him.

‘ _He won’t talk to anyone. How are we supposed to handle him?’_

 _‘I can’t,’_ Sweets thought. ‘ _I have to get out of here. It’s too much right now. I can’t let them see me like this.’_

“I need to get back to the office,” he babbled. Before he could move though, Booth grabbed his arm again and held him in place.

“Not so fast, Sweets,” Booth said. “What’s going on?”

The therapist squirmed helplessly for a moment before giving up and hanging his head.

“Please let me go,” Sweets mumbled, his voice starting to crack.

“Not until you talk to us,” the agent insisted.  Sweets looked down at the carpet and shook his head in response.

“Doctor Sweets, may I ask you a question?” Brennan inquired. “After this question, of course.”

The psychologist looked up, startled by her request and eventually nodded.

“During the Lauren Eames case, you said that I was over identifying with the victim,” she continued. “That I was unable to stop myself from making comparisons between her life and my own. And perhaps to some small extent that was true.”

The anthropologist reached over and took one of Sweets’ hands into hers.

“Is it possible that you identified with Samantha and saw parallels between her life and yours?” she said. “Not literally, of course since you’re not deaf and uncommunicative and to our knowledge you have not stabbed anyone to death.”

“No, I understand your meaning,” Sweets said, relishing the concern she was showing. “I’ve never stabbed anyone, and I was never deaf.” He then stopped and looked back down at the floor. Booth could not help but notice the way the psychologist had worded his answer.

“What about uncommunicative?” the agent asked. Sweets shook his head again and gulped.

‘ _I can’t talk about this. I just can’t…But…they trusted me enough to open up about their pasts, more than once…even though it had nothing to do with therapy. Shouldn’t I trust them?...No, they don’t want to hear this…I shouldn’t say anything.’_

Suddenly, Sweets felt Booth place a hand on his shoulder, and Brennan tighten her grip on his hand, the both of them squeezing gently. He then knew what he needed to do.

“I…I was about five years old and in pretty bad shape by the time I was placed into the foster system,” Sweets finally said in a voice barely above a whisper. “I ended up spending time in the hospital and then at an orphanage while I recovered. In fact, if you were to look at my X-rays, you’d see that they look a lot like Samantha’s.”

“But Samantha’s injuries were the culmination of years of systematic abuse,” Brennan said, confused.

“I know, but…it doesn’t always take that long,” Sweets answered. “You might be surprised at how little time it can take for a person to accumulate their own collection of injuries.”

Booth ground his jaw while his posture grew tense at the therapist’s words. Sweets could guess what the agent was thinking and was grateful for his concern. Still he could not bring himself to look up at either of them.

“Anyway, after all that, it was hard for me to talk to people,” the psychologist said. “I sometimes would talk to my caseworker. She was really nice to me, actually. But I was too scared to talk to anyone else ninety percent of the time. Despite that, I soon ended up in my first foster home…It didn’t go well.”

Sweets began to shiver again, and Booth felt his insides clench.

“Sweets…they didn’t hit you too, did they?” he asked.

“No, nothing like that,” Sweets said, shaking his head. “They never laid a hand on me. But, no matter how much they tried to get me to talk, I still wouldn’t speak to them. Plus, I’d get pretty anxious on a daily basis and would usually have nightmares at night. I guess they weren’t prepared to handle all that, and they got pretty upset about it. They would say things to me…everyday.”

Sweets took a deep breath in an effort to steel himself for what came next.

“They told me how miserable I made them and how much of a burden I was,” the therapist continued. “They kept saying that I was damaged. That I was too stupid to learn anything and too worthless to care about. Soon it went beyond just saying things…They would do stuff like make me sit in a corner for hours and not let me move unless I needed to use the bathroom. If I made them too mad, they would cut back on how much food I would get to eat. All of the cupboards and even the fridge were locked, so I couldn’t get any more to eat until they were done punishing me. There were many days where all I would be allowed to have was a peanut butter sandwich.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” Brennan asked.

“I couldn’t,” Sweets sniffled. “I couldn’t even tell my caseworker. I thought that if I said anything to her, she would get upset, and I didn’t want her to stop liking me.”

“You didn’t have to stay there until you were adopted, did you?” Booth asked, dreading the answer.

“No,” Sweets said. “They sent me back to the orphanage after I started to ‘act out’.”

“What do you mean?” Brennan inquired.

“I didn’t want to stay there, but I was too afraid to ask to leave,” Sweets said. “So I thought…I thought that if I made it so that they didn’t want me anymore, they would send me back. So I started breaking things: glasses, vases, toys…anything I could get my hands on. They got really mad, and stopped feeding me altogether at one point, but I kept on doing it. Finally one night, they called Child Services and demanded that I be removed from their home that night.”

Sweets began to tremble and clutched his knee with his free hand. Booth rubbed his shoulder while they waited for the therapist to continue.

“My caseworker was ill at the time, so another social worker handled it,” he said. “I remember her shoving my stuff into a plastic bag and yanking me along to sit in a chair so she could talk to my foster parents in the next room. But I could hear every word they said. They didn’t even try to hide what they were saying about me. I guess they figured that it didn’t matter anyway.”

The psychologist stopped for a couple moments, and Booth and Brennan began to wonder if he would say any more until Sweets finally cleared his throat.

“My foster parents complained about all the stuff I did,” he said. “That I was breaking stuff, not speaking to them and all of my other ‘issues’. They said that I didn’t belong in someone’s home….and that I belonged in an institution or in juvie…They said that no one should have to be afflicted with someone like me.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Brennan said, her voice taking on an angry tone. “They were the ones inflicting pain onto you, so by very definition, you were the one who was being afflicted.”

“Well, it made sense to the social worker that night,” Sweets shrugged. “She agreed that I was a problem child and that I probably would eventually end up institutionalized, in jail or worse. But for now, the law said I had to remain in the system, so that was that.”

Sweets sniffed hard and rubbed his eyes while trying to sit up.

“I knew then that they were all just going through the motions,” the therapist said. “Maybe my actual caseworker hadn’t given up, but the rest of them were pretty much convinced that I was a hopeless cause not worth fighting for. And a part of me…a large part of me…figured that they were probably right. After all, why else would I end up like that in the first place?”

Sweets suddenly felt Booth clasp his shoulder, and he looked over at him. The agent didn’t say anything, but the psychologist could sense the meaning behind the gesture and the expression Booth gave him. The corner of Sweets’ mouth curled up in a tiny half-smile in appreciation for the support.

“So…when you thought that we were giving up on Samantha…?” Brennan started to ask.

“I let my memories and my personal feelings get in the way, yes,” Sweets nodded, looking back toward her. “I shouldn’t have done that. I know that you don’t just heartlessly gather evidence with no thought of compassion or for finding the truth. You see the lives in the bones you handle and care about the people you encounter. Again, I am truly sorry.”

“I accept your apology Sweets,” Brennan said. “And I think I understand now. During the Lauren Eames case, I became troubled when there were insinuations that she might have used drugs. I found myself very defensive, and at the time, I couldn’t completely understand why. In fact, Booth had to endure an experience from me that was very much like the one I had with you.”

“It’s ok,” Booth assured her. “Don’t worry about that.”

“But if Sweets should apologize to me, then I should apologize to you,” Brennan insisted. “I know that you always seek justice for the victims even if they didn’t live up to some kind of standard of virtue. I should not have allowed my personal beliefs about Lauren Eames to make me doubt you or your willingness to find the truth.”

“Thanks Bones,” the agent grinned. “And I accept your apology.”

Sweets felt a smile of his own playing on his lips as he watched the two of them and tried to wipe the last remnants of tears out of his eyes. Upon noticing his action, Booth and Brennan returned their attention to him.

“Sweets, I was wondering, how did you overcome your uncommunicative state?” Brennan asked.

“Part of it was simply time,” Sweets sighed. “Most of the foster families I ended up with were just sort of indifferent to me, and I also spent a lot of time at the orphanage.  So after spending some time away from truly abusive people, I learned to handle things better…at least well enough to attend school and stay out of trouble for the most part.”

“And the other part of it?” Booth asked.

“Most of my recovery was due to being adopted by my parents…my real parents,” Sweets responded. “They…they took care of me and helped me to learn how to interact with people again.”

“Well if you ask me, they did a little too good of a job,” Booth joked weakly. “The last thing anyone can call you is uncommunicative.” Sweets smirked at him in response, welcoming the shift in mood.

“Don’t worry, Agent Booth, when we meet for your psych evaluations, I’ll be sure to let you do most of the talking,” the therapist nearly chortled.

“Watch it, Sweets,” Booth said with a comical scowl. “After all, I could make it so that having to interview creepy, farting clowns will be the least of your worries.”

Sweets let out a short chuckle at that, and the three of them leaned back against the couch and fell into a companionable silence for a few minutes. Then Brennan looked over at the two of them.

“Sweets, Booth and I were going to get some dinner,” she said. “Would you like to come?”

“Thank you,” Sweets said. “But I probably should get back to….”

“But, I was going to buy. And I’ve got some more coupons for that one Chinese place,” Booth interrupted. “You know, the one with that amazing Szechuan menu.”

“I thought you said that those coupons are only good for two people,” Sweets replied.

“Yeah, but I figure that Bones and I could use those and then we can order off the kids’ menu for you,” Booth grinned. “That’ll keep it from being too expensive.”

Sweets smiled and was about to protest again when he felt another squeeze to his hand and shoulder. He then knew that the things at the office could wait until tomorrow.

“Thank you, I’d love to come,” the psychologist said quietly. Both Booth and Brennan smiled at him, and the three of them got up to leave.

The rest of the evening turned out to be a happy one filled with friendly conversation and even some additional ribbing on everyone’s part. But all throughout that, all of them knew that what they would remember most from this day was the silent moments they had shared together.


End file.
